


men's best friend

by multifandom_fanfic_writer



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Geralt is oblivious some(most)times, M/M, Roach and Jaskier Friendship, Roach is like ‘these are idiots but they’re my idiots’, a lot of one-sided conversation but Jaskier wings it anyway, chaotic bi Jaskier, roach is the grownup, what is a timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_fanfic_writer/pseuds/multifandom_fanfic_writer
Summary: Roach may not have liked Jaskier immediately, but he knows his charms are slowly winning her over.After all, they both love the same (oblivious) idiot.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Roach
Comments: 40
Kudos: 301





	men's best friend

“I’d say you have got a bit of an… image problem.”

That was probably an understatement, in Jaskier’s not-so-humble opinion. Not only was the Butcher of Blaviken not a very flattering title but, judging by the Witcher’s earlier reaction to it, even the Butcher himself did not like it.

That was why Jaskier’s idea would work.

“Were I to join you on this feat to defeat the Devil of Posada,” he did not miss the way Geralt’s eyebrow twitched, “I could relieve you of that title.”

Jaskier spread his arms wide. “All the North would be too busy singing the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Or something.”

Geralt scoffed. “Butcher is right.”

O oh, did Jaskier spot some self-esteem issues?

Maybe he did. After all, if you can’t be strong, be smart. And Jaskier certainly wasn’t strong.

Not like the rock of muscles riding next to him who was not the emotionless creature he was rumored to be. How romantic, the idea of the man who could not be moved actually being a big softie.

Well, Jaskier thought as he side-eyed the solemn and unfriendly façade of the Witcher. Maybe that was stretching the truth a bit too much, even by his bardic standards.

Jaskier was distracted from his inner musings by one of the greatest evils he had ever encountered, shamefully ambushing him without a single warning.

A rock. On this very path he was walking.

The rock which was now, in fact, under his sore feet and making his left leg all tingly.

Bardic shoes were _not_ made for walking.

“Mind if I hop up?” he asked with a hopeful smile. “I’m not wearing the right footwear.”

Jaskier decided to aim his brightest smile at both the Witcher himself and the horse.

Hm. Maybe he had better chances with the horse.

The way the brown mare was eyeing him distrustfully, however, made his hopes plummet.

“Don’t touch Roach.”

The Witcher’s words were accompanied by a disdainful huff from Roach herself.

“Yeah, right.”

* * *

Jaskier is half-heartedly poking the campfire that he just got started, the only source of light in the now dark woods.

Geralt has disappeared into the woods looking for food, has been gone for fifteen minutes already. Jaskier won’t admit it, but he’s feeling a little scared. What if he gets attacked? What if he gets eaten? What if his clothes are ruined in the process? This outfit needs to be shown in many more taverns before perishing under the hands of some handsome maiden or gentleman, thank you very much!

It’s only his third night in the woods since he started traveling with the silver-haired warrior. He isn’t quite used to it yet.

“Stupid superior night vision. Why are my eyes so useless?” the bard wonders aloud.

From behind him, tied to a tree, he hears a whinny.

He whirls around, looking Roach dead in the eye. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me! I might not see as well in the dark as you, but at least I can talk!”

Roach shakes her head and stomps a hoof.

“Ouch,” Jaskier holds a hand to his heart in fake-hurt, “I would let you know all humans _love_ my voice. Maybe you just have bad taste.”

A blank stare.

“I never said Geralt didn’t lack taste as well.”

Roach snorted.

Jaskier huffed. He should have known Roach would have picked up some traits from her owner.

He let oud a long sigh and dropped his head in his hands. “What am I doing, talking to a horse? Although,” he continued as he shot a grin at the brown mare to his left, the light from the campfire now at his back casting moving shadows over her flank, “you make a better conversation partner than Geralt when he is grumpy. Which is most of the time.”

If he didn’t know better, he would take the glint in the mare’s eyes for amusement.

Jaskier smiled at Roach, turning back to the campfire and picking up his lute from where it lay next to him.

Just as he was about to start up a tune, a gruff voice speaks up from behind him.

“Who were you talking to?”

Whirling around once more in surprise, Jaskier sees Geralt emerging from the bushes with a slain deer in his hands.

“Geralt!” Jaskier thinks he is just a bit too happy to see him again. Ah, well, sod it. Try being left alone in the dark woods for what could have been _hours_ and not feel annoyingly glad and relieved his monster-slayer was back.

Jaskier doesn’t trust these woods.

“Can’t you make some more noise when sneaking up on me? You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “That would mean blessed silence.”

Ignoring his companion’s usual gruff mood, Jaskier can’t help but smile at the sight of the deer. “Good catch, Geralt. And I started up the fire!”

Waving his arms at the fire behind him, Jaskier actually feels quite proud.

The deadpan look thrown his way dims his enthusiasm slightly- but only slightly. He’s quite used to rooting for himself.

As Geralt goes to make the deer ready to roast above the fire, Jaskier turns his head toward Roach once more.

“Grumpy,” he mutters at her.

She gives a slow blink in return.

“I head that.” Geralt replies with his back still turned to him.

Jaskier gulps and just picks up his lute.

* * *

“Why must he always start hunting for food when it’s dark already. If we’d just taken the other way around we’d be at the an inn already! Imagine the ladies swooning at my voice, the warm bath, the hot food…” Sigh.

Sitting by the now expectedly made campfire, Jaskier turns around to face Roach.

He’s bad at keeping silent. Geralt always goes out to hunt alone.

Roach just nickers at him, used to his babble by now.

“It would just be one day extra in the end. And you can’t complain. You’re a horse! You’re made for walking long distances, and with Geralt on your back, it’s just me that’s walking all day long the human way. My blisters have blisters. On the plus side, my thighs are ripped now. Which I’m sure the boys back in whatever civilized place we will eventually get back to will love.”

Mid-complaint, Jaskier stands up and trots over to Roach, who headbutts him gently.

“I know it’s Geralt’s stubbornness, not yours,” he continues as he gently pets the mare her flank, “and that two people is a bit heavy for you. My feet just hurt.”

Roach neighs at him in indignation.

“I know! Geralt is the one overly concerned about your health. I have full faith you could carry us both all day.”

Roach huffs in agreement, headbutting him once more. Jaskier obediently starts petting Roach her snout instead.

“And even if you would become tired, I would argue Geralt is the heavier and stronger one. He’s more suited for walking than lil’ old me.”

The mare snorts at him, and Jaskier grins in response.

“Oh, don’t give me that!”

The bard had been travelling with Geralt for almost a month.

He was not ashamed to admit – if Geralt would ever ask, which was never – that he’d fallen into the habit of talking to Roach whenever the Witcher left them alone for some reason for another. He’d felt quite stupid, at first, especially when Geralt almost caught him doing it once or twice, but well.

It’s nice.

And well, the horse is one of his two traveling companions. So whatever.

“When you two travel alone, does Geralt actually talk to you as well? Or is he just his silent grumpy self?”

Roach shoots him a look, a challenge. _What do you think?_

Jaskier doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he has made up a specific voice tailored to whenever he imagines Roach would actually say something to him.

The bard leans against the mare’s flank, scratching behind her ear in a way he now knows (after she almost bit his hand off twice) she liked.

“You know,” he muses, “I think Geralt actually does talk to you when you are alone. Maybe quite often, even. For all that Witchers are supposed to not have emotions, he really cares for you. Loves you, even. He’s mostly human-ish, after all – he has to talk about the shit he sees sometimes, and I think he does with you.”

Roach very carefully doesn’t react.

“Two days ago, when we crossed those drowners that almost took my arm off,” Jaskier grins, “you know I saw him first look over to you to check that you were okay before he went to me to bandage my arm. I would have been offended, but really, I understand.” Gazing unseeing into the campfire, Jaskier trails off softly. “You’ve been together for quite some time.”

Roach whinnies softly, turning her head so she almost puts her nose in Jaskier’s ear. A rough tongue comes out to lick his cheek.

Jaskier splutters. “Hey!” As the mare noses him once more, a smile breaks out on the bard’s face. “Don’t worry, Roach. I’m not upset about it. Besides, didn’t I tell you I recently upgraded from single-worded answers to sentences of at least several syllables?”

The amusement in his eyes is reflected in the dark brown eyes of the horse in front of him. “I know, amazing, right? And I’m starting to translate Geralt’s grunts, as well. It’s like learning a new language. Amazing.”

Laughing, Jaskier ruffles Roach her flank once more before sitting back by the campfire. Geralt should be back soon.

Seating himself by the campfire, he picks up his lute.

_“As I tell the Wolf’s adventures on this steady beat,_

_Let us not forget the efforts of his royal loyal steed…”_

* * *

He finds Roach before he finds his Witcher.

Jaskier approaches the lake where he’s heard the White Wolf was last seen, a year after Jaskier had decided to stick around court for a week of feasts and the yearly Bardic tournament – which he won with ease, in his own humble opinion – while Geralt had wandered off to fight a monster.

When the tournament was over, he’d waited for Geralt to turn up again, full of energy and pride.

He didn’t come back. Jaskier tried not to feel surprised. Reality check much?

Eventually, he gave up and started travelling alone once more, ignoring the appearance of the crack in his heart.

Now, wearing a brand new cobalt-blue outfit and hands slightly trembling, he cannot deny the way his heart beats faster as he’s finally run across his Witcher once again.

When the bard emerges from the forest and hears the gentle tide of the water and sounds of splashing in the distance, a smile makes itself known on his lips.

His hands stop trembling.

The sight of Roach waiting by the lakeside, turning her head towards him and whinnying softly in (happy?) greeting, soothes something inside of him he did not know was ruffled.

“At least one of you is happy to see me. Hey, girl.” Patting her flank in greeting, pressing his face against the side of her head, Roach nuzzles him back in greeting. _Welcome home._

“How has he been?” Jaskier meets the mare’s eyes, trying to decipher her reaction. It’s been a while, but it feels like just yesterday they made camp in a dark part of the woods, Jaskier’s words filling the silence and entertaining, surely, Witcher and horse both.

Roach’s nostrils widen as she huffs warm air into his face, left front hoof stamping on the ground.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt?”

A muffled growl. Roach shakes her head slightly.

“Not immediately threating, then, but I’ll keep his bad mood in mind. Thanks, Roach. Anything else interesting happen?”

Roach just looks at him.

“Hm, that was to be expected.” Jaskier smiles. “It takes a special sort of someone to keep up with Geralt of Rivia, you know.”

Roach ninnies in agreement.

“I’m glad he’s okay, at least, and you as well, Roach. It’s high time his lone wolf routine got interrupted, am I right?”

When Roach uses her weight to push him towards the lake, Jaskier takes it as agreement.

“I’ll make you allow me to ride on her eventually, you know.”

“Ha. That was one of your funnier ones.”

As Geralt throws his head back in a rare bark of laughter, he misses the look exchanged between bard and horse.

* * *

Hosting Jaskier, throat swollen and blood coming out of his mouth, finally onto Roach, Geralt is not laughing.

Roach gallops as if her life depends on it.

* * *

Jaskier has had a rough day.

It started out well, finding Geralt who actually sort of looked happy to see him.

(Jaskier is used to twisting reality to please himself. Coping, he’s once heard they called it.)

But then the almost-dying part happened because of Geralt losing his temper around some stupid djin – that part he only figured out later. Of course, Jaskier immediately forgave him because of all the effort his Witcher had gone through to save him.

Waking up in a sorceress’ bed who was as beautiful as she was terrifying with memories of pain and darkness and helplessness did not exactly improve his day.

As soon as Jaskier manages to escape the building, leaving the crazy witch behind, he runs into Geralt.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

He turns around quick enough to catch a honest-to-god relieved _smile_ on Geralt’s face.

“I’m glad to hear you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier’s had a shitty day, okay? And Geralt left him. He _left_.

Ignoring Geralt’s denial, Jaskier starts talking about what the fuck his day was, when Geralt stops.

Of course he knows the woman.

Geralt of Rivia, the fearsome warrior, letting himself be blindsided and played by a fucking sorceress.

Jaskier tries to not feel jealous when Geralt turns around. He’d barley met the woman and now he goes risking himself like that for her?

The darkness in his chest does not want to shut up. “Don’t tell me this is the moment you’ve decided to actually care about someone other than yourself.”

His anger and confusion from everything that happened that day war within him. _Why suddenly care so much about her? A woman you’ve only just met?_

_Why not care about me, who has travelled with you for almost a year before you left me after the tournament?_

(The truth of it.)

_Why did you abandon me?_

He knows he’s not being fair.

He doesn’t care.

Geralt looks him straight in the eye, and Jaskier knows he’s made up his mind.

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die.”

Oh.

Oh.

Slowly, Jaskier trots back to the elf looking at Geralt’s form disappearing into the castle.

He doesn’t know what to feel.

When the elf claps a hand on his shoulder, Jaskier startles.

“It must be hard, seeing the heart of the one you love so easily captured by another.” The elf sounds a mix of sympathetic and starstruck. “That is the greatest of her powers.”

Jaskier stares at him incomprehensibly. For once, he does not have a witty retort.

He keeps walking, sees Roach standing at the entrance of the house, and meets her eyes.

Roach whinnies softly, almost mournfully.

Jaskier throws his arms around her neck, buries his face in her fur, and breathes.

Just breathes.

Just. Breathe.

A moment passes.

Roach whinnies again.

“I’m not sure what to think either, Roach.” The mare huffed in response and shook her head.

Jaskier straightens, but does not let go of her warm fur. “As if I could have stopped him. You really think he’d listen to me?”

Roach bristles, but does not step away.

Jaskier feels his emotions color his voice. “I don’t like that he risked himself, either. But he’s sort of right. That witch did save me.”

Roach does not answer, and Jaskier steps closer to her once more. Closes his eyes. Waits.

(What can he do but just wait, wait, wait?)

It could be moments or minutes or hours later when Jaskier is torn from his meditative state by a sound like rolling thunder.

The top of the fucking house has just collapsed.

With Geralt still in it.

There is coldness in his body, a numb tingling sensation not unlike being completely wasted. It starts in the middle of his chest and spreads throughout his limbs as he walks forward, Roach following behind him and crying out in distress.

His fingers are cold and shaking when he stands in front of the collapsed building.

All for some fucking witch.

He sinks to his knees and is almost afraid to admit the tears forming in his eyes.

Roach comes to a stop next to him, distress obvious in the way she trots over to him, sniffing the air.

He leans into one of her hind legs, unafraid of the strength contained within them, and whispers to her.

“What am I supposed to do now?” He isn’t afraid to admit the way his voice hitches. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

Roach, next to him, stills. Her nostrils flare.

A huff.

Jaskier looks at her, wanting to tell her about the songs he’ll write about Geralt. How he’ll make sure the White Wolf is never forgotten.

But Roach looks at him, completely calm, the uneasiness in her posture dissipating.

The bard doesn’t want to believe what he’s being told.

“He’s okay? Really!?”

His exclamation is louder than he’d intended. A few feet from him, looking into the broken window, the elf turns his head to him questioningly.

Jaskier recognizes himself in the man’s gaze. He doesn’t let it distract him from the Elf’s next words.

“They’re alive.”

Something in the way he says it, the way the broken tilt to his voice has not disappeared like it should, makes Jaskier sprint to the window.

Is Geralt hurt? Is the djin still there? Or a new monster? Townsfolk? What if-

Oh, he thinks, looking through the shattered window that looks remarkably like his hart feels right now.

He huffs out a laugh that fails to sound happy or relieved, looks at his Witcher and the deadly crazy sorceress intertwined on the floor a moment longer, the image branding itself into his brain, and turns to leave.

Back into Roach her flank it is.

“Guess I was never his type, anyway,” he huffs into the warm fur.

Roach whinnies sadly in response.

Ten minutes later, not that Jaskier was counting, the pair of man and horse have seated themselves outside of the walls of the now half-ruined mansion. The elf had disappeared to god knows where.

“At least I know he’ll always come back for you, Roach.”

Roach bends down to nose at his lute.

Jaskier lets out a short bark of laughter. “Don’t worry, I always knew you loved my singing. Never believed your denials for once second, Roach, when your head turns to our campfire whenever I’m playing.” A small smile appears on his face at the memories, though it dissipates soon after.

“But I’m not feeling up to it, right now.”

Roach noses at the lute once more. _Come on._

Jaskier sighs, the feeling of defeat like a beast in his chest, wanting to be released.

“Well, I can never deny a true fan’s request.”

Picking up his lute, he starts to play with the strings forlornly.

“Maybe a ballad. I’m feeling the soft, sad, melancholy kind, don’t you agree?”

He takes Roach her huff as agreement.

Jaskier plays with the strings, testing a few chords, closing his eyes and letting loose the feelings in his chest.

_“But the story is this,_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss…”_

Just those two sentences make him stare off in the distance once more.

Roach whinnies sadly, and Jaskier turns to her with a sad smile.

“Ah, well. The evil sorceress will probably be gone in the morning, as they all are, and we’ll never see her again. I hope.”

Roach snorts, then turns her head to look at the ruined mansion.

Jaskier follows her gaze and sees two figures walking towards them, their clothing messed up from both the battle and the… activities afterwards. Jaskier swallows down the lump in his throat, rises from his position seated by the fire, and sends a forced smile to Geralt.

Geralt walks straight to Roach, patting her flank as the mare makes happy noises.

“This is Roach,” he grunts towards the sorceress. The mare noses him, glad her master has returned.

Geralt turns his head to catch Jaskier’s gaze, and the bard feels uncomfortable with what he thinks he reads in them. Never mind what he’s afraid is reflected in his own eyes right now.

“And this is Jaskier, the bard I met a while ago.”

Jaskier turns an even faker smile to the brown-haired woman now standing by the campfire. His words are fueled by anger and hurt both. “Jaskier, a dear longtime friend of our monster-slaying companion.” He makes a exaggerated bow. “And you are? I didn’t catch your name while you were threatening me and summoning some kind of monster that almost killed aforementioned monster-slaying companion.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunts in displeasure, and the bard remembers, _she saved your life_.

Maybe. But then she fucked him over again in more ways than one.

The sorceress meets his eyes without fear or distrust, and there is something like steel in her eyes that makes Jaskier respect her, even now.

This is a woman who makes stories. Someone who _needs_ a bard by their side, to tell them. Just like his Witcher.

But this time he wants to stay as far away from her as possible.

“Yennefer van Vengerberg.” As she speaks, she flips her hair over her shoulder and strides towards Geralt, who is standing next to Roach.

Why are all the beautiful ones crazy?

“She’s beautiful,” Yennefer breathes as Geralt takes a step back and lets her approach Roach.

He was going to introduce her to _Roach?_ Voluntarily? Letting her touch his precious mare?

Did that sorceress put him under some kind of spell?

He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth as Yennefer stretched out her hand to pet Roach. “What the fuck.”

Geralt may send him one of his more serious glares, which Jaskier wouldn’t admit hurts just a little bit.

But when Roach rears back from Yennefer’s touch and huffs in displeasure, Jaskier can’t help but feel warm inside. At least one of then is not blinded by beauty.

( _At least one of them is still loyal._ )

“Roach doesn’t like a lot of people,” Geralt tells Yennefer, who drops her hand. Jaskier can’t help but think Geralt sounds like he had hoped for a different outcome.

Jaskier and Roach send each other sympathetic looks.

* * *

Five weeks pass.

The fierce but crazy sorceress leaves. Jaskier can’t help but think they’ll see her again.

At first, Jaskier just plasters himself to Geralt’s side with a wide smile, joining his travels until the smile starts to feel genuine again. Jaskier pretends like he isn’t relieved when Geralt doesn’t protest the bard joining their travelling entourage again.

Nowadays he doesn’t mind when Geralt goes out to hunt alone.

After some days the duo falls back into their old rhythm. Geralt responds in full sentences, now. Jaskier writes a new song.

One beautiful morn, they find themselves in a large town, larger than Jaskier has seen for quite some time, and the bard revels in it.

They choose the largest inn – Jaskier has become an expert on talking Geralt around (insofar that is actually possible, of course). “They’ll also have the nicest stable, and we both deserve, no, _need,_ a hot bath, and my tales will earn us the most coin out there, so-” A grunt. Jaskier smiles. Roach whinnies, and the bard decides it’s a happy one.

The crowd that night is large, probably thanks to Jaskier letting the innkeeper know of his performance that evening a few hours in advance.

It’s nice to know that his winning of this years tournament counts for something for people – other than Geralt.

The townsfolk start out by giving Geralt distrustful glares and Jaskier suspicious looks as he climbs up the stage.

Starting off with the now-famous _Toss A Coin_ and following it up with his other upbeat songs, soon, the townsfolk are all clapping and singing along, throwing coin his way and Jaskier grins. The looks towards Geralt turn contemplating or interested. When Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye, and the White Wolf just raises an eyebrow, Jaskier smiles.

After a short break for food, in which no less than three woman and one man come up to the Witcher and his bard to flutter their eyes at either one of the duo (and none of them get anything out of the grumpier part of it), Jaskier grabs his lute again.

“Time for the second round,” he grins at Geralt, completely in his element.

The Witcher gives him an unimpressed look, but Jaskier is sure he doesn’t imagine the hint of affection in the yellow eyes.

Taking the stage once more, he sets a easier tone, aware that the full bellies of his audience lend for a different atmosphere. He starts of with a funny ballad about the deaf farmer and his blind wife, followed up by a few classic love songs, to which several townsfolk sing along, before his fingers find a more melancholy tune.

“And now for a new one of my own making,” the bard tells the chatting but attentive crowd, who perk up in interest. He clears his throat, calling up the right kind of emotion which goes a little too easy if you ask him, and starts singing.

“ _The fairer sex, they often call it,_

_But her love’s unfair as a crook…”_

The feelings in his chest pour out easily, and the crowd falls silent as he continues his song.

Jaskier very resolutely does not meet Geralt’s eyes.

_“But the story is this,_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss…”_

“You think it’s about that Witcher he travels with?” he hears one woman whisper softly to her friend in the front row. He can only hope the other sounds in the tavern disguise her voice, that is does not carry.

Only years of experience make him stop the bark of harsh laughter that wants to leave his lips, instead pouring that feeling into one of the loudest and longest notes of the song.

As his fingers string along the last notes of his song, he lets the moment play out, back in control. When the crowd goes wild, he bows three times, gathers his earned coin, and thanks the crowd.

He does not try to find the familiar form of his traveling companion in the crowd.

Instead, he takes off to the back, grabbing leftover pieces of bread along the way as his feet find their way to the back of the tavern.

Stepping into the open air, he smiles.

At the end of the short stall, Roach lifts her head to welcome him.

“Hey, girl,” Jaskier coos as he steps past the other horses. “Too bad you couldn’t be there for my performance. I know Geralt would take you inside if he could.”

Roach nudged his shoulder and the bard laughed as he handed her the pieces of bread.

Chewing contently on her treat, her inquisitive eyes bored into his.

“Yeah, I did play it,” Jaskier admitted with a heavy voice. “I’m not sure if he knew. It’s been weeks since we saw her, and I don’t know if he pays attention to my songs in the first place.”

Roach whinnies softly through her chewing. _Of course he does_. It’s almost comforting.

“You think?”

She huffs.

“On the good days I agree with you, y’know. After all, for all I ramble and sing, he never really complains or tells me to shut up. Sure, he doesn’t give my jokes the credit and awe they deserve – no, don’t argue with me, you know I’m right – but he never minds my stories. Not really.”

Jaskier sighs and twiddles with his thumbs. Unseen to him, Roach her eyes flicker across the wall behind him.

“Well. It would be nice to have conformation sometimes, you know, that he doesn’t mind my company.”

Roach scruffs her hoof against the hay softly and whinnies.

Jaskier gives her a lopsided smile. “You know, you’re right. He is a man who speaks through action, really, and his actions make it clear he doesn’t mind. Except for the fact he abandoned me last year,” he swallows, “but let’s not be a pessimist, now. He is that enough for the both of us!”

Roach blinks at him approvingly.

Jaskier grins.

Then she noses his pockets.

“Hey!” Not stepping back from the pressure of her head and the wet nose on his clothes, Jaskier huffs in amusement. “Knew I wouldn’t be able to sneak it past you.”

Taking out the sugar cubes in his left pocket, he feeds them to the mare, one by one.

“Don’t let Geralt know,” he whispers, “or he’ll complain about me spoiling you again. It’s okay, though. I know you deserve it – first and foremost for putting up with him.”

Roach then proceeds to nibble at his hands and Jaskier laughs.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to head back, see if I can play us another round. And maybe, if you’re good, I’ll stack up on sugar again. But no promises, okay!”

Melancholy mood lifted, Jaskier skips back through the stall with a relaxed visage, wiping his hands against a nearby haystack before grabbing his lute once more.

Behind him, Roach watches him go.

When he disappears back into the tavern, Roach takes a step forward and turns accusatory eyes on the figure hidden in the other corner.

The Witcher wisely stays silent.

* * *

“That one is called burning grasp. Helps with boils.”

Pointing at some vaguely green-and-purple plant that is almost indistinguishable from all the other vaguely green-and-purple plants in the swamp around them, Geralt looks at Jaskier like he expects him to memorize this instantly.

The bard sighs, throwing an exasperated look to Roach on the other side of the Witcher.

Roach is _not_ laughing at him. No, sir, nope.

“Geralt, you can’t just point at whatever plant you have memorized in your infinite encyclopedia of survival knowledge once and expect me to immediately know all about it!”

Geralt huffs. “You wanted to be more helpful, didn’t you?”

Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. “Yeah, and I pay attention! Curing boils, just like that sunflower-ish plant but then in pink we came across two days ago. Which could also be used to deal with sunburn, just like that vine-thing you pointed out earlier.”

“Moonlight’s grip.”

“Moonlight’s grip, vine thing, I mean the same. But I pay attention, I do, but here in this swamp all plants just look alike. I’m a visual man. If I can’t even see the difference between the plant you just pointed out to me and,” here he points at another vaguely green-and-purple plant nearby, “that thing, how can I remember it?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “The one you’re pointing at is called sunseed, only good for seasoning. The burning grasp is poisonous when ingested.”

Jaskier throws his hands up in frustration.

Roach is still making those noises which means she is laughing at him. Or at them both, by this point.

Geralt realizes this as well, and sighs before stepping in and grabbing both plants out of the earth.

He turns to Jaskier. “Burning hands. See the way the leaves twist at the bottom? That’s what sets them apart. Sunseed has smooth roots, here,” Geralt explains as he points to the visually unique parts of the plants, “which is also the parts you can use to season meat with.”

Jaskier exhales slowly and smiles. “Thank you, Geralt. Like that, I can remember it better.”

Geralt grunts, but Jaskier sees the way his face smooths, content.

Roach looks at them both, proudly.

* * *

Over the past few years, Jaskier had become handy with a dagger mostly out of necessity.

When the foolish bandits attack their camp in the middle of the night, he is up and armed within a moment.

Of course, Geralt takes care of most of them easily. Jaskier falls back next to Roach mostly out of habit.

As one of the bandits with a big cleaver runs towards him with a blood-thirsty grin, not seeing the way three of his kin are slaughtered by an incensed Witched behind him, Jaskier takes a moment to make eye-contact with the mare.

Maneuvering to the side, he takes a step back, so the bandit has to run around behind Roach-

who kicks him with her hind legs so strongly the man lifts into the air a full three inches before falling down on the floor, barley breathing.

Jaskier finishes him with his dagger soon after, disgusted but determined.

He turns back to Roach. “More of a mercy at that point, really. Good job, girl.”

Behind them, surrounded by dead bandits, Geralt looks proud.

* * *

Jaskier may tease and be teased with his companions, but the truth is, simply put, he is an excellent performer. I mean, he won the bardic competition this year, for God’s sake.

This, combined with the fact that he knows his way around money because of his never mentioned upbringing, means Jaskier is actually quite loaded at times.

Of course, he often blows this on clothes, instruments, and ale, but still.

So when Jaskier, Geralt and Roach trod through the market stalls of a busy town, easily enough room for them to walk even though the market is quite busy, Jaskier keeps one eye out for interesting wares and one eye on his companions and their reception.

Geralt never bothers with whatever they sell on these markets.

Which makes the fact that he slows his walk in the middle of them quite interesting.

Jaskier pulls his attention to the duo and hears Geralt murmur.

“What is it, girl? What do you see?”

It was Roach, not Geralt, who initially slowed their gait. As Jaskier’s eyebrows raise, he follows Roach her gaze.

She is looking at another horse.

The stallion is midnight black, his coat shiny and his build fierce. The other horse is looking in their direction as well, dark eyes sharp, many tidy and swishing in the wind.

Roach has come to a halt.

“Roach?” he hears Geralt ask. “Come on, girl, let’s keep moving.” He shoots an accusatory look at Jaskier, as if it was his fault that Roach got distracted.

Jaskier smiles knowingly.

Later, as they arrive at the local tavern and get their rooms, Geralt disappears upstairs to take a bath. Jaskier decides to go… explore the market, once more.

As he walks back to the tavern, pouch near empty, stallion (who is called Stang) in tow, he grins as enters the stall.

Roach neighs loudly, startled, as Jaskier parks his new horse next to Roach.

He takes care of Stang, pats him on the neck, and then makes a flamboyant gesture. “Stang, this is Roach, mare extraordinaire and the better of our two traveling partners. Roach, this is Stang, the new member of our group.”

The horses step towards each other, sniffing and poking curiously.

Jaskier pats Roach her flank before retreating back into the tavern.

The next day he just explains to Geralt his feet got tired of walking, but does not miss Geralt’s fond smile as he looks between the two horses who are standing quite close to each other.

When the Witcher only complains twice that day about his rambling and gives Jaskier an extra serving of meat that evening, the bard feels loved.

* * *

When they travel up onto the mountain to find the dragon egg, Jaskier puts Stang next to Roach. The two of them have gotten along quite well these last few weeks, and Geralt and he are faster now that they have two horses. This means less camping in the woods, which is both amazing and somehow something Jaskier misses.

As the group mingles around them, Jaskier addresses the two horses. “Now, be nice to each other. We will be back within a few days at most!”

Roach noses him and he pats her flank lovingly. Leaning close, he whispers, “don’t worry, Roach, I still like you best of all of them. Don’t tell Geralt.”

Roach whinnies happily and Jaskier smiles, giving Stang a goodbye pat as well, before turning around to face Yennefer. Joy.

Following Geralt and the others, Jaskier walks up the mountain.

Three days and a broken heart later, Jaskier walks down the mountain.

Alone.

His walk is downtrodden. His clothes are full of dust and sand. His mouth and eyes are dry, his jacket ripped, and he is all alone.

As soon as he comes into view of their base camp, Roach starts whinnying loudly.

Jaskier makes a sound that could have been a laugh.

Oh, Roach.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he speaks as he comes closer, and tries not to hate himself for the way his voice breaks.

“He made it clear he does not want us to travel together anymore. So I’m going to go on alone, now.”

Roach stomps her front hooves widely, whinnying once more, and Jaskier’s heart breaks just a little bit further.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers once more as he buries his face in her mane.

Breathes.

In.

Out.

Roach is still moving, making noises, though careful to not throw him off. As if she understands what is happening but doesn’t want to.

Jaskier pulls back and wipes the tears from his eyes.

Goddamnit. He told himself he wouldn’t cry, but he loves Roach, and he loves Geralt. Two goodbyes in one day is just too much.

(You’d think he’d be used to it by now.)

“I’m going to go now, Roach, or I’ll never be able too.”

His lute and belongings are attached to Stang quickly, efficiently, and then he stands on the road. Alone.

Roach lets out a last soft neigh, and the distress in her eyes is visible.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier chokes out, and leaves.

* * *

Jaskier expects that to be the last he ever sees of Geralt.

Even if the Witcher eventually finds the ability somewhere in his emotional range of a teaspoon to apologize, it would be far past his short human lifetime.

But for the first time in a long while, he is wrong about his Witcher.

It has been seven months. Jaskier got lost on the way between to towns and has to spend the nights in the woods.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles to himself. There are no rumors of monsters in these woods, but that does not guarantee safety.

As is evident minutes later when he hears heavy footfalls behind him and turns to see a large black bear advancing on him.

“OH SHIT,” is the last thing he shouts before scrambling up a tree.

When the bear starts crawling after him, he has a moment to curse his own stupidity and pray to the Gods the bear doesn’t trample on his lute before-

Another roar, this time of pain. The sound of steel.

A loud whinny.

He opens his eyes.

“Geralt.”

The name is like a prayer in his mouth and Jaskier can’t believe his eyes.

“Jaskier. You alright?”

The bard drops out of the tree and straightens with trembling legs.

(It is not because of the bear.)

He laughs. “All these months I’ve stayed safe and the one night I’m in danger is the one you find me. The fates must like me.”

Geralt’s face does something that may be called a relieved smile if Jaskier believed he was capable of such a thing.

After all that has happened, he is not sure.

Old anger, low but bitter, starts to burn in his stomach.

He waits a moment, staring into Geralt’s eyes, but the Witcher does not say anything.

Jaskier walks past him with a huff.

“Hello Roach. I’m glad to see you again.”

The mare neighs happily at him, nosing his outstretched hand.

Jaskier feels his face light up in a genuine smile. “I missed you too, girl.” She bristles, but Jaskier keeps talking. “Don’t deny it. Yeah, a few weeks. No, I know.” Roach licks his hand and he moves to rub her neck. “Of course I didn’t.”

Roach nudges him meaningfully during their conversation, turning her head around the clearing.

“No, I sold him. I didn’t travel as much so I didn’t need him that often, and besides, he got on my nerves after a while.”

Roach snorts. “I knew you’d gotten bored of him as well, you know,” Jaskier laughs in response. Roach huffs but does not disagree. He feels warm inside, even on this cold night.

Movement behind him. The bard turns around.

Geralt is standing behind him and Roach, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

He is holding Jaskier’s lute in his outstretched hand.

For a moment, Jaskier freezes, unsure what to think. The Witcher’s eyes are soft. He swallows visibly.

Then, a miracle.

“I’m sorry.”

The words sound like they have been forced out of Geralt’s throat with the strength of a thousand man. Jaskier’s mouth drops open, but the White Wolf is not done.

“I did not mean what I said on that mountain. I had a very rough day and felt very unhappy with myself, which I took out on you.” Geralt’s voice honest-to-God _trembles_ slightly on his next words. “Honestly, I… I was thinking I’d rather have taken you up on your earlier offer to go to the coast and forget the whole shitshow. Because that’s what is was. A complete shitshow.”

The words are monotone, practiced. Geralt closes his eyes halfway through saying it.

But he does. Say it.

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk aloud in a day, never mind a sentence,” Jaskier cannot help but quip back, mouth running on autopilot as his mind processes the information.

He regrets it immediately at the flash of hurt in Geralt’s eyes as he lowers the lute.

Luckily, even with his human reflexes, he is fast enough to stop him and grab his arm.

“Thank you for saying that, Geralt. I accept your apology.”

The warmth in his voice is genuine. Geralt’s frown dissipates.

“I know it must have been hard for you to say that, but it is okay. It helps me to know you care.” He swallows. “About me.”

The Witcher is now looking at the forest floor, tense.

Time to be the emotional grown-up here, Jaskier thinks, and steps forward to envelop Geralt in a hug.

Geralt tenses even more, but does not resist.

After a moment, he even relaxes, and Jaskier holds him that much tighter for it.

Roach would be proud.

Geralt pats him once on the back, awkwardly, and Jaskier cannot help but laugh.

“Another step in your journey to communication, completed!” he jokes as he releases the Witcher. “But I cannot help but be curious, my dear Witcher, what moved you to seek me out?”

Geralt’s mouth thins, but he eventually sighs in defeat.

“Nothing.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and taps his elbow, waiting.

Geralt’s eyes flicker behind him.

Jaskier breaks out in a smile and steps towards Roach to give the mare a big hug.

“Thank you, Roach, for getting his head on straight.”

Roach neighs in happy victory.

* * *

A few weeks later, Geralt walks out of the woods after a job to see Roach coming up to meet him. With Jaskier on her back.

He glares, betrayed.

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier teases him with a wide grin as soon as he’s in earshot, “she still likes you best. You can actually ride her; I can only sit on her back and let her lead me places.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Geralt grumbles and does not order Jaskier to dismount.

* * *

Her humans are making strange noises.

She’s heard her warrior human make those noises before, sometimes, but never with her singing human.

She knows what those noises mean. Often when her warrior human meets some nice other human on the road who travels with him a bit, eventually, they come together in some sort of brawl and make these noises.

Then, the next morning, the man or woman that had made those noises with her warrior human goes away.

She had never minded. She didn’t know if it was some kind of brawl, test of strength, or mating ritual, but she never really cared.

But now her warrior human is making these noises with her singing human.

She likes the singing human. He makes a lot of noise, but his whinny is sweet and his heart is true. Her warrior human always smells a bit more at ease when he is with her singing human. Those months after the mountain, when her humans had a fight, were bad. Her warrior human was in a bad mood, there was less food and warm stalls, and less pleasant noises at night. She’d given her warrior human the cold shoulder for months to convince him to return to her singing human, which of course succeeded in the end.

But now they are making these noises.

Her singing human provides her with sugar cubes.

She likes sugar cubes.

She does not want the singing human to go away. Not again.

Her warrior human is making the noises that make other humans go away.

There is only one thing to do.

She must stop this.

Rising from her comfortable patch of grass, she trots over to the tent where the noises are coming from.

Pushing her head between the flaps, she lets out a loud whinny.

“ROACH!!”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you catch all the references? ;D
> 
> I've written several other fics in MCU and Naruto verse, for those interested. 
> 
> Find me at king-of-sass.tumblr.com


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